


Cakes at Midnight

by Edonohana



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Baking, Gen, Stress Baking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23675539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/pseuds/Edonohana
Summary: Menolly and Mirrim seek some stress relief while trapped by a storm.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46
Collections: Flash In The Pan: A Food Flash Exchange





	Cakes at Midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cyphomandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyphomandra/gifts).



Menolly only came to Benden Weyr to sing at supper. But an out-of-season lightning storm struck halfway through, nearly drowning her out and forcing her to stay the night. 

No one at the Weyr seemed particularly concerned, though it was a rare occurrence for a storm to be fierce enough to keep dragons from the sky. But you couldn’t grow up in a sea hold without gaining a sense for the weather, and Menolly wasn’t entirely surprised when it hadn’t stopped in the morning. 

By mid-day, with the Weyr full of restless riders and fidgety weyrlings, she’d gone to Manora and asked if there was anything she could do to help. The Headwoman gave her a slightly harried smile, and set her to helping the Weyrsinger with the Teaching Songs. But the children struggled to concentrate, the younger ones flinching at the thunder cracks that seemed to shake the stone. 

Her fire lizards too were unsettled by the sheer ferocity of the storm, and expressed it by swooping around and chittering, blinking in and out in rapid succession, refusing to keep quiet or stay away. Inevitably, the fair was dismissed and Menolly with them. 

That night, though the glow was shielded and Menolly lay still in her borrowed bed, they still couldn’t seem to settle down. They flew around the room, their colors dulled in the darkness, squeaking and chirruping, broadcasting anxiety and frustration and the sense of being trapped. 

Beauty landed on Menolly’s chest with a thud, grasped her quilted nightshirt with her talons, and tugged at it. 

“Stop it.”

Beauty chirped commandingly, and the entire fair landed on Menolly’s bed. At their queen’s command, Uncle and the Aunties seized other pieces of Menolly’s nightshirt and pulled, while the larger browns and bronzes dragged off her heavy blanket. 

Menolly gave in. If her fair was so determined that she get out of bed in the middle of the night, well, it wasn’t as if she’d been busy sleeping. She dressed and padded along the dimly lit corridors, with her fire lizards swooping and flitting ahead of her. 

Perhaps—no, very likely—F’lar and Lessa were awake in their weyr, discussing the storm. But the area Menolly walked through was as empty and voiceless as those ancient parts of the Weyr must have been before Jaxom and F’lessan had discovered them. It gave her an eerie feeling, shivery and watchful. Despite her fair, she felt very alone.

Following Beauty, Menolly turned a corner. Brightness glowed ahead, and she heard a faint metallic clinking over the pounding rain. Someone was in the kitchen cavern. Menolly considered turning back, so as not to bother them, but Beauty gave a commanding chirp and flew straight in. With a resigned sigh, Menolly followed.

The kitchen cavern, normally so busy, was empty except for a solitary figure bent over a counter. No—not solitary after all. Fire lizards began to blink into view above her—a green, a brown, another brown…

“Mirrim!” Menolly called out in delight.

Mirrim jerked her head up, looking guilty, then relaxed when she saw Menolly. “What are you doing here? Hungry?”

“What are _you_ doing?” Menolly retorted, then spotted the array of pots and pans. “Hungry enough to cook yourself a full meal?”

“No.” Mirrim scowled down at a jar of flour. “I’m just frustrated. I feel like I should be out doing… something. Path and I can’t fight a storm, of course. But we ought to at least be able to take you back to Harper Hall.”

“Lightning is faster than dragons.”

“I _know_ —” Mirrim began irritably.

“Even for a dragon as fast and smart and agile as Path,” Menolly concluded.

At that, Mirrim relented. “I’m baking. I haven’t done it in a long time. But back when I was at Southern Weyr, and here before I Impressed Path, I used to bake when I was tense. It relaxed me.”

Menolly had also found the steady rhythms of the Benden kitchen cavern relaxing, but she hadn’t ever done much baking. She hadn’t had a chance to at Benden, and at Half-Circle Sea Hold, Mavi had always shooed her away from the baking of their dark, heavy, seaweed-flavored bread, saying it required precision of which Menolly wasn’t capable.

“I’ll help you,” Menolly offered. “If you tell me what to do.”

“Oh, I can always tell people what to do,” Mirrim assured her. Then, catching Menolly’s struggle not to grin, she laughed. “But really, it’s not difficult. You just have to be precise.”

The word gave Menolly a faint unease. But as they set to work, she found that Mirrim had only meant using carefully measured cups and spoonfuls rather than simply tossing in a handful of this and a pinch of that. As the bread dough transformed under Menolly’s hands from a sticky mess to a smooth, firm ball, she said, half to herself, “I _can_ do this.”

“Of course you can,” said Mirrim. “You pay attention and follow directions. Unlike some people.”

They set the dough in a warm corner to rise, then began making cakes. It turned out that there was some role for improvisation in baking, after all: once they’d carefully measured everything for the basic cake batter, Mirrim divided it into batches and told Menolly, “Now we add whatever we think will taste good: fruits, herbs, nuts, spices. I can tell you how much of anything to add, but as for _what_ to add, your choice is as good as mine.”

It wasn’t long before two cakes were baking, one flavored by Mirrim (apple spice) and one by Menolly (berries soaked in Benden red). Then they returned to the bread dough, and vigorously punched it down. 

“Imagine someone you dislike,” Mirrim suggested. Menolly thought first of Pona and then of her father. “Good work!”

They added flavors to the punched-down dough and kneaded them in: one sweet loaf with citron peel and rosemary, and one savory with chopped sausage and onion. 

It was only after they had returned it to the warm corner for the second rise that Menolly realized that though the storm still raged outside, her internal tension had eased. And not just hers. Her fire lizards had long since stopped their endless swooping and were instead perched around the cavern, some even stretched out and napping in the warmest spots. Beauty had languidly draped herself across Menolly’s shoulders, as had Reppa across Mirrim’s.

“Baking _is_ relaxing,” Menolly said. 

“Punching the dough always makes me feel good,” Mirrim agreed. “Hmm. We have to wait a little while before the bread’s ready to go in the oven. Is there anything you’d especially like to bake? Or eat?”

Menolly didn’t hesitate. She’d been thinking of it ever since she’d seen the fresh berries. “Do you know how to make bubbly pies?”

“I do,” said Mirrim. “Good idea. I haven’t made them in ages, and I haven’t eaten them since my last gathering.”

They made the pie crust, rolled it out and cut it, and lined the little tins with it, then filled them with berries, butter, sugar, a squeeze of citron juice, and a sprinkle of klahbark. More crust covered the tops, and Mirrim showed Menolly how to use a brush to apply an egg wash before sprinkling the little pies with sugar. Using the small brush reminded her of putting the finish on a gitar.

When they were done, they fetched the risen dough. It was smooth to the touch, silken and resilient as a fire lizard’s hide. It felt alive, and it smelled wonderful. 

“I don’t remember the dough in Half-Circle Sea Hold rising like this,” Menolly said. She’d tried to touch it once, as a child, and gotten her hand slapped.

“No, it wouldn’t,” Mirrim said. “The grain that grows so close to the sea bakes a heavier bread. We trade for flour that bakes lighter.”

“And we—they don’t,” said Menolly grimly, thinking of her father. “You’d only do that if you thought it mattered whether anyone enjoys their food.”

Mirrim raised an eyebrow. “I always supposed the sea holders made their bread that way because they liked it. I think it’s a treat, myself, with a little smoked fish. We don’t make it here because none of us can get it right.” 

“Maybe they do like it,” Menolly said slowly. Mavi certainly had cared about getting her heavy, briny bread just right. As for Menolly, she hoped to never taste it again.

They removed the cakes from the oven and set them out to cool, put in the pies and bread, and began cleaning up. They’d barely finished wiping the counters when Mirrim sniffed the air and announced, “The pies are done!”

She slid the bubbly pies out of the oven and laid the tray out on the counter. A rich, tangy, enticing scent rose up from the little pies, and berry juice bubbled from cracks in the browned crust. 

It was only then that Menolly realized that the ever-present rain had faded from the sound of a strong but untutored man beating wildly at a great drum to the soft pattering of a drummer playing the last movement of “The Ballad of Moreta’s Ride.” Mirrim cocked her head. Menolly’s fair began broadcasting relief, safety, triumph.

“Path says the storm’s passed,” Mirrim said, unnecessarily.

They looked down at the pies and cakes they’d made. The bread, still in the oven, filled the cavern with its scent of spice and sweetness, herbs and fruit, and absolutely no seaweed. 

“Enough for a feast,” said Menolly.

“It’ll go quickly enough,” said Mirrim, then listened for a moment. “Path says that considering that _you’re_ here, maybe we didn’t make enough bubbly pies.”

“Oh, that is not true.” 

“Let’s find out.” Mirrim handed Menolly a pie. “Don’t let it cool down.”

Menolly took a bite. The berry filling was hot and sweet-tart, the crust perfectly flaky. Bits of sugar crunched between her teeth. Beside her, Mirrim drew in a happy sigh. There was a dab of juice on the tip of her nose, and her lips were stained dark purple. 

When Sanra and her women came to the kitchen cavern to make breakfast, they found Mirrim and Menolly hard at work, baking a second batch of bubbly pies.


End file.
